Walking with Strangers
by Kira Kissed Him
Summary: Dreams can be a very cruel thing. Mikami will see a face and then it will change. To be saved from darkness, you must submit to the light, but, he's just wondering if it was ever really there, and if so, why does it always leave him?


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Death Note, nor do I own any of it's characters. Actually, Death Note owns me.

**Notes**: I'm usually a smut kind of person, especially with this pairing because it's to die for. & There's not enough fan fictions centered around these two equally intriguing characters. However, the concept of this fan fiction is meant to be more conceptual. Hence why the dream lacked sex. Yeah, I fail. Oh well.  
By the way, this is my first actual fan fiction. This is not AU in the least but rather referring to the mind and it's ability to perceive the unknown in it's own way. Seeing events that haven't yet happened. Or perhaps you could interpret it as Mikami's imagination/ sub conscious filling in the gaps.  
There's also a bit of a double meaning intertwined, how the mind warns us of things in unusual ways but usually we perveice it differently then what it's true intent is... We warp our views to befit our desire and the consequences are the price.

**Walking with Strangers.**

_Another night, Another dream but it's always - _

He's walking with his briefcase and all seems normal. A day like no other as he continues on with the societal ingrained schedule that has everyone going in their own directions. Their own purpose, and purposes to do what is expected of them.

Teru Mikami is no exception and he follows along effortlessly, a casual nonchalant face in the crowd, no different from the thousands of others that plague the streets and line them like an army. He walks at his usual steady pace, calm and collected because his methodical mindset never wanders, it never expands or expects change. He never allows anything or anyone to interfere with his purpose and his unbeknownst delusions.

Except there is **one** exception.

One alone and it's funny, because now he's sprinting as if he's suddenly remembered that he is late for something. Running, moving agile and quickly with no reasoning to do so. He does though, and it's as if he doesn't care or does because he knows something that he doesn't yet know consciously. His footsteps pound against the pavement and it seems to echo about his head as he keeps on moving and barely wonders or pauses to consider his actions.

He just goes on because somehow he feels he _has to_.

He feels he must disrupt everyone as he sifts through the crowds and the people for his destination. Wherever it is he is going because for whatever reason he can't quite recall as he bustles past, issuing out polite apologies as he goes. He's not even really looking or seeing, just acting. The more he runs though, the more people seem to begin to disappear, and the car noises stop and become a hazy blur, a soft ringing in his ears or rather a sensation as he squints in the distance to make out a figure that is also fast approaching. Someone whom he can't entirely make out, but leaves him stunned nonetheless. This dark, but so entirely bright shadow that sets the pace and clears others from out of his way. For with each movement, more people disappear until there is no one surrounding them. Just them. _Alone. _The street is gone too now, and there is just light and darkness all around them.

He notices this frantically, acceptingly as his heart wavers in his chest. Pulsating and threatening to bust out of the confinements of his ribcage. Yet the blood seems to of stopped circulating for he has stopped mid step. His destination forgotten, or perhaps found. It seems whatever he is looking for has found him instead as he finds himself suspended by a sudden onslaught of emotions, ranging from fear to a divine sort of bliss. The creator of such awe a man that stands not far from him.

A man he recalls but can't, for he's never seen him before in all of his years of life but at the same time he's so certain he absolutely must know him.

There's something about him that causes this overwhelming emotional familiarity to seer through every vein in his body. A knowledge that is his and his alone that somehow this person is not only important, but is **everything**.

He couldn't answer how he knows, how he is so very certain by that enigmatic, nearly malicious glint that reflects dangerously around the amber colored iris. How he's been ascertained because of the ever present smirk that graces the flawless mouth as it curls upward, beckoning and inviting as he crosses his arms and stands perfectly still. As if this man, this god among men, his god, his Kami, is waiting for him.

It's him, he knows it is, as well as he knows that justice shall someday prevail and Kira, Kami's word will be everyone's law not only his. He believes this whole heartedly as he steps forward because god wants him, wishes for him to move and compose himself so perhaps further judgment can be passed. So he shall, feeling weightless as he closes the distance to a singular gap. Those eyes, so calm and piercing, livid and distant as they stare at him. Devoid, yet full and he can't comprehend them, and he's fearful of displeasing god by not knowing something.

Though perhaps he's not meant to, for they narrow slightly as if they can see into the intangible mess that serves as his mind. He swallows dryly, knees buckling beneath him as he sinks to the ground. Head lulling to the side so his black locks become tousled and slide over his face, obscuring his own dark fanatical eyes from view. He's frightened, so very blessed by such joy, such luck and it isn't his place to derive such joy, such gratification from this man, this being as he kneels down and presses his lips to the ground, a single kiss at his feet. It isn't his place or in his power to be allowed to wonder of the mechanics of such flawless perfection, of such a being above and beyond the rest of humanity. His throat is dry making it difficult to swallow as a hand is on his head, one which he doesn't even feel but rather acknowledges as he stares up with eyes filled to the brim with ardor and a crazed sort of satisfaction that's difficult to suppress.

God is beautiful. God is everything beauty could aspire to be, everything the Christian god that is revered by his millions of followers. God, this god, _his _god, and soon the worlds is so much more. Everything an imagination can not even comprehend. He says everything without sparing a single word…

He is deadly, and he is poisonous when he ruffles his hair and continues to smile that smile that never reaches any part of him but his lips. He is angelic kindness, gracious and sympathetic to all and everything when his gaze flits over Mikami. He is the manifestation of a tempting sin that is nearly inexcusable to yield to when he brushes his thumb across his lips. He beckons you to _commit_ treachery, and expects punishment. Expects repentance.

He feels so awed, completely spellbound by the time he registers the touch that reaches all of him, that he feels but doesn't as he involuntarily leans into it. The lips curling further upward as he finds himself feeling them, the warmth and the coldness spreading through his own body. The breath being knocked out of him as he clings to nothing but the air, afraid it will escape his lungs as he returns the kiss as it's deepened. A sharpened tongue slipping through his compliant lips as he moans softly, it comes out of his throat clearly as he reaches upward, his arms snaking themselves around the body loosely at first before they tighten somewhat. An embrace filled with desperation. One that causes the other to pull away and continue smiling manically at him. His composure unruffled in contrast to his own fast breaths and flushed features as he reaches out in hope, in repentance for he pushed the limit and he knows. He will be punished and he will take it graciously and with honor. Yet, his Kami is backing away from him, still with the ever present smirk as he simply waves a finger at him in mockery of his shortcomings. His blush worsens as he tries to cry out and apologize but his voice fails him and the figure is leaving. God is leaving him, and he wants so badly for his return but it's not in his place and a light, seems to surround him as he feels his body convulsing, his form twisting in pain as he finds it within him to go after him, to plead, to bolt..

Upright.

**Out of bed**,

So he's clinging to the sheets and the warmth is simply sweat that coats his skin in an opalescent sheen. The same sweat that causes his matted locks to stick to his forehead. Breaths short, frantic gasps for oxygen as a wetness lingers around his eyes. One he isn't sure of and ignores, the euphoria and bliss a series of images before his eyes as he stares at the wall as if trying to recapture them and will their return. This dream, one of many, a series that has caused him to wake up with soiled bed sheets. To wake up in fear, in alarm, so he will look around stunned and terrified as if Kami will be disappointed by his abrupt actions.

His weary eyes though will soon find it's gone, he is gone and he is in his bed alone left to ponder what sort of cruel temptations go through his mind. Sometimes he pretends it wasn't a dream, that it was real, that it isn't simply a manifestation of his imagination. That he was here, had graced him with his blessings and decadence. He has so many unanswered questions that lurk in his mind as to why this sort of commitment, this harbored delusion has been thrust upon him, but he brushes it off. It isn't his place to think of god's will, it is absolute. He will forget and pretend it does not exist for it could be an interference. After all Mikami has always been particularly good at pretending.

If he wasn't he would be terrified of going to bed each night because the awakening is always hard. So melancholy and dreary. Causing his eyes to view everything in black and white, shadows that seem to be everywhere closing around him as he waits in bed for the bittersweet dream that lingers along with the realization of how he's gone to blend in with the sweat that slides away in the shower. It's difficult to find god has left you because he was _never there to begin with_.

He knows the ideal is blasphemous, ridiculous and sick but it reoccurs, and he can't help it because he wants to believe that someday it will come true, but that's being out of place out of line so when he goes about his day in normal routine he dismisses it. He does not intentionally search the streets for a face that he sometimes thinks he sees, but knows he doesn't. He still does though, inconspicuously as if they know he is looking for them. As if god would be angered.

So that is why he does not look hard. He only glances, he only pauses once before going in, before the day resumes. That's why he only smiles once during lunch as he presses a finger to his lips and continues dreaming… but only until he must return to his office again and continue on with shuffling paperwork, looking through files and going through names. Criminals on both sides, work and divine work related. Why a soft tremor goes through his body that he ignores as he inspects himself briefly in his bathroom mirror as he hurriedly brushes his teeth because after all… it is why he now goes to bed at 10:00 instead of 11:00...

He knows it's unethical! Ridiculous. Stupid. Delusional. But...

_There is nothing like a dream to create the future._


End file.
